


A Hound, A Wolf Pup and a Trip to The Summer Sea.

by chloemagea



Series: Playing Dangerous [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sandor and Arya, Sandor and Arya are going on a buddy road trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloemagea/pseuds/chloemagea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playing Dangerous AU: </p><p>How different would things be if Sandor never almost died from his fight with Brienne? What if Arya never left him for dead and went to Braavos? What if they made their journey from Westeros to the Summer Isle in search of Imani Xe?</p><p>Honestly, my excuse to write more Arya and Sandor interactions because I love them so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU from my main fic, Playing Dangerous. I'm typing this under the assumption that you are already aware of the plot and characters. Please read that one first before reading this one.

Overhead she heard a crow that was flying above them in the drab gray sky. The woman knight dressed in her blue armor was shocked what she heard next from the pale-faced child.

“The Bloody Gate is ten miles,” Arya cut, her tone like a blade. She was refusing her help, more willing to stay with the terrifying man that stood in front of her.

“I swore to your mother by the Old Gods and The New,” Brienne started to say, hoping that Arya Stark would listen to reason.

“I don’t care what you swore!”

“Arya!” Brienne begged, she had sworn an oath to her mother. She had promised that she would find the Stark girls and keep them safe. This was her chance to do right, but she never expected to be refused. She thought the girls would be willing and happy to be protected by her. She was wrong.

“You heard the girl,” Sandor said, and Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. He looked horrid and terrifying; she had heard about him, the violent Hound. Brienne couldn’t fathom why Arya Stark would want to stay with a man like Sandor Clegane. “She’s not coming with you,”

Brienne curled her lips, “She is.”

Sandor pulled out his sword, warning her that he was willing to fight her for the child. Odd, why would he, a monster care what happened to the child? She pulled out her sword as well, and he glanced his shadowy eyes at the blade.

“Valyrian Steel, I always wanted some Valyrian steel,” he said lowly. Frantic now, Brianne looked back over at Arya, who was standing silently, her hand resting on the hilt of her tiny bladed sword, her pale eyes watching them cooly.

“Come with me Arya, and I’ll take you to safety,”

“Safety? Where the fucks that?” Sandor raised his voice, and the rough rasp of it unsettled her. “Her aunt in the Eyrie's dead, her mother's dead, her father's dead, her brothers dead, Winterfell is a pile of rubble! There is no safety you dumb bitch, if you don’t know that then you're the wrong person to watch over her.” The words ‘Watch over her’ almost made Brienne laugh; it seemed humorous that a man like him could care for anyone, let alone a child.

“Is that what you' re doing watching over her?” She said. He had to have a motive, some horrible reason to want to keep Arya. Brienne’s mind couldn’t help but go to dark places; monstrous men do monstrous things. Kidnapped and abused children could become complacent in their situations and even grow to care for their abusers. She knew Arya had been through trauma and maybe in her mind being harmed by him was better than the other horrors that she had faced in the past. Brienne was about to speak, but her words were silenced when the little wolf's voice stopped both of them.

“You say that my mother would want me to be safe,” she spoke. Brienne looked back over at her, and something in Arya’s eyes told her that she was in her right mind. The lowered brows, hand on her sword, her body language mirroring his. “I’m safe here,”

“I can’t leave you with him, do you even know this man and the things he’s done?” Brianne said, wishing that Arya would listen.

“She knows exactly who the fuck I am and what I've done,” he growled behind his teeth.

“You’re a killer,”

“Aye, but this killer has been trying to get her back to her family, this killer has been protecting her and feeding her. Where the fuck were you? When she needed you, huh!?

Brianne could see then, the blackened bite wound on his neck and realized how sunken his eyes looked. He was ill, yet still willing to fight her to keep the young wolf safe. Arya moved closer but didn’t step from behind him. A child peeking from behind an adult she trusted in the face of uncertainty and possible danger. A thick wave of defeat washed over Brianne, and she looked down to the rocky ground under her booted feet. What kind of person would she be if she yanked Arya away from him against her will? She promised that they would be safe, and she seemed to be.

“Arya,” she took a step, and Sandor put his hand out in front of the girl and let out a sort of growl. Brianne let out a sigh and put her sword back in its sheath. “Fine,” she said.

“What,” Podrick said as Brianne turned around and shook her head.

“She’s safe, that is all her mother asked for.”

Arya and Sandor both watched as Brianne walked away, but she paused and turned back around and took one last look at the girl and the man she stood next to.

“Stay safe, Arya Stark,”

“She will,” Sandor spoke through the foggy air, and with that Brienne of Tarth was gone.

* * *

 

Sandor stared at the crackling fire that Arya and he sat around. A salty bead of sweat ran down his forehead even though the air was crisp and chilly. He wiped it away and blinked up across the glowing orange flames to see Arya staring directly at him.

“You look really sick,” she spoke, her eyes going across his face. He looked thinner and his complexion appeared tinted gray.

“You figure that out on your own?” Sandor snapped as he put one hand to his forehead and let out a sigh.

“You have a fever?”

“Aye,” he put his hand on the wound on his neck and felt that it was oozing and sticky. “I’ll be fine; I’ve head fevers before. They haven't killed me yet.” Sandor laid on his back and stared up to the black sky, tiny pinpricks of light glinting above. The dark reminded him of her, his far away Imani. He could picture her, lying supine on a quiet Summer beach, nude in the moonlight, tiny grains of pale sand in her black of hair. He wondered what she was doing at that exact moment in time. He tried to remember her laugh, how sweet it sounded, yet he knew that what he was recalling was nothing more than a shade of the actual sound. He sighed and threw one arm over his face and closed his eyes.

“You’re thinking about her,” Arya said. Sandor said nothing, his eyes still fixed on the stars above. Arya brought her knees to her chest and stared at him. “If she were here right now, what would you say to her?”

Sandor let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He had a million things that would be ready to jump from the tip of his tongue if she stood in front of him, yet he couldn’t visualize speaking to her. His mind always tripping back to the mental image of him falling to his knees at the sight of her brown and golden presence.

“Shut up about it.,” he grunted as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Arya didn’t speak again on the issue, only tightening her lip before she sniffled and shivered. Their conversation when cold and Arya said nothing, in the chilly distance they heard a crow and a low rumble of thunder. A few moments had passed in silence before Arya went to speak again but when she went to part her lips she noticed that Sandor had already slipped into a sickly sleep, sweat beaded his forehead, and he breathed heavy. He was truly not well. Arya hugged herself for warmth and saw the faint, white puffs of her breath in the chilly air. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand and quivered due to the crisp cold.

“Ugh, Seven Hells,” she uttered before she got up and walked over to him. For a second she stared down at his face, she could see the agony in his expression, the lowered brows, the grinding teeth. At that moment he was far less of a violent, bloody pawed hound, but rather a dog that had been beaten, kicked and abused. A formidable yet, sorry thing, much like her. Between her own snarls and barks were whimpers, begs for help, desperate to find something other than hell and pain. Arya shrugged her shoulders before she plopped down in the cool grass next to him and let out a sigh, taking advantage of his fevered heat. Arya slowly closed her eyes, and there in the dark and under the stars she whispered, “You better not die, you’re all I’ve got.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was a low clap of morning thunder above, in the gray gloom filled sky. Arya let out a small whine and scooted closer to the warmth in front of her. Her mind tripped backward to another time, a soft memory. When she was younger, she would sneak into her parent's chambers after being woken up from nightmares and slip into bed between her father and mother. Arya let out a small sigh, feeling oddly safe close to The Hound's massive warmth in the gray morning chill. Another growl of thunder rumbled as Arya slowly peeled her eyes open, her face pressed against the cold studs of The Hound's leather armor. For a moment she laid there, not wanting to move, the still was nice so was the silence. It seemed too peaceful.

"Hound," she whispered, coming to the realization that she couldn't hear his breathing. Quickly, she looked up at him, and a surprising Panic jolted through her. He was all gray, clammy skinned and glazed over eyes; he was breathing but, only weakly. "Hound?" she said again, this time shaking him. His barely open eyes moved to look at her, and his lips twitched before he spoke.

"I'm done," he whispered, his rough voice sounding cracked and broken. Arya stared at him for a second, feeling her heart lurch and wobble with how utterly pathetic he looked at that moment. He bit his bottom lip and made a pained expression as his eyes slid in their sockets. "She had the most--the most beautiful hair," he said, his nonsensical words caused Arya to shake her head.

"What?" she asked, but he only continued to mutter on.

"H--her laugh it sounded like fucking birds s--singing," Sandor slurred, his eyes looking more and more glazed as the seconds went on. Arya touched her small child hand to his forehead and gasped at the searing heat that was burning off of him.

"Seven Hells,"

Sandor looked at Arya and his sickly brain made and image that couldn't be. Under the gray, drab sky he saw another little sister, Arya's pale dirty face seemed to change right then. Ghostly blue eyes turned to warm brown; the sharp Northen nose became snub and gentle. Arya Stark became Asha Xe, trading one youngest sister that he had protected for another. "Little Lady?" he questioned, reaching one, large sweating hand out for her.

"I told you, I'm not a Lady," Arya said, suddenly her eyes darted up and in the far distance she saw someone. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, and the illusion of her being her Summer Isle opposite was gone, and he once again realized that he was looking up the at Northen Wolf Arya Stark, with her wit as sharp as a blade. "Wait here! Don't you fucking die," she said, running towards the figure. The last thing Sandor heard was Arya's high voice yelling through the gray distance. "Help! Help! It's my father; he's very sick! Please help him!"

* * *

 

_A monster, a beast made of sharp steel huffed. Its hot breath escaped it's twisted mouth and snout in a plume of white in the cold air. The creature let out a pained whine and snarled, contorting it's metal face in agony. Hundreds of long shining needles protruded from its massive body like quills. In the lap of the monster sat Imani Xe. Her naked body glimmered with a sheen of sweat, and a crown of feathers adorned her beautiful head. Swiftly and efficiently, she pulled the needles from the creature, dropping them to the reflective black floor with gentle pings reminiscent to rain on stone. Her delicate dark hands were slicked with the blood of the beast, and with each pull of a needle, she would touch her fingers to her lips to taste the metallic sting. She hushed and hummed to the monster when it protested in pain._

_Suddenly from the darkness, two sets of white hands reached out for the animal as well. The Stark sisters stood there, pale watchers to Imani's work. The brightness of Sansa's fire hair was close to blinding as if her head was lit with a flame. She rested her head against the animal, putting it gently, her face pink with tears. Her white gown made of silk flowed even though there was no breeze to be felt. The crown of frozen winter blue roses atop her lovely head._

_Arya cried too, but angry, rageful thick tears as she grabbed the beasts big arm and whispered into its upturned ears through clenched teeth. The thick black cloak she wore made her seem even smaller, more of a girl child than she was. The crown of thorns on her head pricked her skin causing her to bleed thick lines of blood down her forehead._

_Imani's hands reached up and grabbed the longest needle at the chest of the beast. The creature growled and writhed at her touch, but she ignored it without a hint of fear. She went to pull, and the monster lunged forward and snapped at her face, just shy of biting through her flesh. Imani only sighed and puckered her lips and planted a kiss on the beasts foaming mouth. The summer beauty gripped the needle, and as she pulled, she parted her lips. With an impossible strength, she overpowered the huge monster and climbed atop it, somehow holding it down with her tiny body. The Stark sisters started to speak in tandem, their words so quick that it sounded as if a chant with no meaning but slowly their speak became apparent._

_"Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor."_

_Imani heaved and choked, one hand holding open the beast's mouth the other_ gripping _the needle. With another lurch of her form she vomited, clear, sweet nectar into its mouth. With a sudden Sandor was the beast, no longer watching the strange events from an outside view. He could taste the mango flavor of her vomit, and the pain of her prying the needle from his chest. With one final tug, she pulled it free and looked at him, green light dancing on the wet surface of her dark eyes. She slowly brought the needle to her lips and licked the blood from it._

* * *

 

A dull pain snapped him from his dreamish-nightmare, and Sandor slowly pulled open his eyes. There was nothing for a moment; the unknown location was blurred to his vision, only dark and a tiny bit of flickering orange. After a few seconds he started to make out details, a door, the stone wall, the flickering was a candle light.

"Where in Seven Hells?" Sandor uttered, feeling weak and a bit dizzy.

"Gods, you talk a lot when you're sleeping," Arya's voice spoke from beside the bed. He looked over at her to see the little Stark sitting in a chair. The first thing he noticed was how clean she looked; her brown hair was no longer stringy and greasy, and she was wearing new clothing, boys clothing but new none the less.

"The fuck are we?" Sandor asked, sitting up and realized that he wasn't wearing his armor. He touched his hand to his bandaged neck and made a tight, confused expression.

"Some place called the Quiet Isle," Arya shrugged. "A Septon named Meribald took us here. Glad he had a cart with him because of there was no way we would have been able to get you on your horse," she chuckled.

Sandor stared at her, the only thing he could recall after hearing her call out for help was his unsettling dream. "You could have just left me there to die,"

"I could have," The light flickered across Arya's pale face making her look a shade older than she was for a second. "But you owing me your life seemed like a better deal."

Sandor rolled his eyes and out a grunt. "Aye, then we're even. Seeing as I've protected your arse this whole time," Sandor gritted his teeth as he sat up a bit more and looked around, noticing that his armor was neatly placed on a simple wooden table that sat in the corner of the dim, small room. "Girl, help me with my armor," he demanded, surprised when Arya narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you seriously saying you want to leave right now?" she asked, watching as he stepped out of bed. His balance was off for a second, but he stabbed himself.

"Aye, that's what the fuck I'm saying. I have places to be,"

"Seven Hells, I think Imani Xe can wait," her name on Arya's Northen lips sounded strange, and Sandor cut her a lowered brow look. "That bite almost killed you, and if it wasn't for the Septon that brought you hear you would be dead and a use to no one when you're rotting in the ground." Arya spat, and Sandor was just about to snap back at her, but the door creaked open. He looked over, instinctively clenching his fist, ready to fight if need be, but in the archway stood a tall, thin man who was dressed in simple brown robes.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he said, looking surprised.

"I'm sorry. I told my father that but he doesn't much like listening," Arya said, and Sandor shot her a glance.

"Aye, and my daughter has a smart mouth that gets her in trouble," Sandor cut back. The monk looked at them and let out a joyful chuckle and shook his head.

"You should be glad you have such a caring child; she has bearly left your side these two days." The monk smiled. At his words, Sandor looked back over at Arya who only dismissively rolled her blue eyes.

"Two days?"

"Aye, which is why I must suggest you rest. You were a single step from meeting the Stranger, my lord."

Sandor looked at the monk and then to Arya and reluctantly sat down on the bed and clenched his jaw.

"I suspect you should be well enough for travel in a day or so."

"Are you going stop me if I try to leave now?" Sandor asked, and the monk shook his head.

"No, but you will still be weak, and the travel might cause you to fall ill again. So, if you wish to die possibly, be my guest," The Monk said going to step to the door, but he paused before opening it. "The call me the Elder Brother by the way," he smiled before leaving Sandor and Arya alone again. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up.

"I don't know why people keep accepting your lie that you're my child, we look nothing alike."

"I know, I'm nowhere near as ugly as you," she snickered.

"Fuck you, Arya."


End file.
